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by spockandawe



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eating Disorders, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Power Imbalance, Rape, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7121914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re not the only one watching Starscream. Isn’t like this is a new show or anything, so mostly it’s just quick sideways glances, mechs trying to get some idea of what’s up without catching his attention. And you know, you know you’re being less obvious about looking than pretty much every other mech in the camp, but he still stops right next to you and does this <em>stupid</em> dramatic pause thing until you finally give in and look up at him.</p><p>He smirks. “Ah, Blitzwing. Good to have your attention.”</p><p>You do your best not to groan. “What do you <em>want,</em> Starscream.”</p><p>“Oh, nothing much.” He pretends to examine his claws. <em>Ugh.</em> “Just thought you might want to know that someone seems to have let it slip to our <em>dear</em> Lord Megatron that when you self-service, you call his name so loudly you wake half the camp.”</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Lots of warnings for this fic. All explicit and referenced sexual activity in this fic has very sketchy consent practices. There are injuries obtained during sexual encounters. There's sexual abuse, even if I didn't lock down exactly how much is intentional and how much is the result of an extreme power imbalance and a toxic cult of personality. And there are slight references to food issues and food hoarding.
> 
> To be clear, most of my writing characterizes Megatron using season two of the MTMTE comics, but this characterization is deliberately based on Spotlight: Megatron. The fic is meant to be set shortly following that issue.

                The first sign that something is off is when Starscream comes out of Megatron’s tent smiling. That—never happens.

                You watch him out of the corner of your optics he limps back towards Skywarp, right on the edges of the camp, as far as they can get from Megatron. You remember how at first they used to recharge right next to his tent, until Flatline finally finished getting Starscream halfway functional again, and then he wouldn’t shut _up_ for almost a full orn until Skywarp agreed to pack up his things and move. You don’t even think those two even like each other anymore, so what’s up with that?

                And you’re not the only one watching Starscream. Isn’t like this is a new show or anything, so mostly it’s just quick sideways glances, mechs trying to get some idea of what’s up without catching his attention. And you know, you _know_ you’re being less obvious about looking than pretty much every other mech in the camp, but he _still_ stops right next to you and does this _stupid_ dramatic pause thing until you finally give in and look up at him.

                He smirks. “Ah, Blitzwing. Good to have your attention.”

                You do your best not to groan. “What do you _want_ , Starscream.”

                “Oh, nothing much.” He pretends to examine his claws. _Ugh_. “Just thought you might want to know that _someone_ seems to have let it slip to our _dear_ Lord Megatron that when you self-service, you call his name so loudly you wake half the camp.”

                You’re in shock for a moment, or you would have _ripped the wings off his frame_ —but he takes the opportunity to turn and keep limping back towards Skywarp. Astrotrain catches your arm to hold you back before you can go after him. “ _That’s a lie, you filthy little glitch!”_

                “Is it? Because I know at least one mech who believed it, and trust me, he’s _very_ interested.” He looks back over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you. Just imagine how angry he’ll be if he thinks you’ve humiliated him with all the camp listening in.”

                You’re still stunned speechless. Starscream braces himself on Skywarp’s shoulder to gingerly lower himself to the ground. You still haven’t thought of anything to say while Starscream shouts for Flatline and just—just spreads his legs right there, right in front of _everyone_ —

                You turn your head away. Starscream must catch it, because he calls out. “You really shouldn’t delay too long. I can’t say you’ll care for Megatron when he’s angry. He hadn’t halfway finished with _me_ before he was distracted by tales of your… _enthusiasm_.”

                Oh, _frag_. You look helplessly at Astrotrain, but he just shrugs and says, “I’m heading out. Patrol.”

                He doesn’t have patrol for another four joors and you both know it. You get up to your pedes, somehow, and he gives you one last pat on your leg that’s probably— _supposed_ to be reassuring, but right now you can hardly feel anything at all. You think a strong breeze might knock you offline.

                Starscream is watching you, even while Flatline is messing around with… _whatever_ between his legs. It isn’t until you turn to walk to Megatron’s tent that he finally says, “Perhaps you should reconsider, the next time you decide you’re entitled to _my things_.”

                His things? _His things?_ Okay, you might not know what his damage is, you might not know why he decided he wants to go around even more underfueled than the rest of you, but if he’s going to hoard his rations instead of _using_ them, like any sane mech, why _shouldn’t_ they go to the first person smart enough to just take them? Everyone’s on starvation rations as it is, and he somehow managed to stash away two full orns’ worth of fuel for a frame your size, and you’re supposed to just… ignore that? Frag that, you’re not sorry at all. Except for the way that every step is bringing you closer and closer to Megatron’s tent. And this is still just the _easy_ part.

                You don’t even know how you’re supposed to start. You can’t really knock on a tent. You definitely don’t have the nerve to just… _go in_. You hover outside the tent entrance for an awkward moment before you decide to send him a quick ping over his comm. And you _immediately_ start second-guessing yourself. It’s too forward, it looks too enthusiastic, having to do this once is going to be bad enough, but if he decides he wants you to be his new Starscream, you just—

                But you get a fast reply. Short too. Just telling you to come in, no hints or anything about what he’s thinking. When you step inside, Megatron is holding a datapad, looking down at what Shockwave managed to patch together from your old communications system. He turns as you let the tent flap swing closed again.

                “Blitzwing.”

                You bow your head, doing your best to keep your wings steady. “Lord Megatron.”

                He steps around you slowly, and you have to focus on not jumping at every fall of his pedes. Your frames aren’t that far apart, size-wise, but you never feel like a large mech around him.

                You can’t help shivering when his hand runs down your gun barrel. Maybe he’ll—think it’s the good kind of shivering? He lets his hand trace down your barrel, then up and over your treads as he paces around you. Your head is still bowed. Better that way.

                Or at least your head is bowed until Megatron pauses in front of you, lifts your chin with a finger, and—oh. You’re—kissing Megatron? Being kissed _by_ Megatron.

                You’re not an idiot, you know you need to at least _try_ to reciprocate. It’s just hard when you’re still half-frozen and hardly able to process that this is actually happening. But you need to do better than this. If Megatron thinks he’s been set up to look like a fool—it sends another shiver through your frame, though you try to hide it by pressing up against him, letting your hands settle on his waist. He responds by pushing his glossa into your mouth.

                You manage _not_ to choke, _not_ to bite, _not_ to pull away—so you think you’re doing pretty well. And it’s only a few quick moments before you remember how your mouth works, let your glossa push back against his. Remember, if he gets upset, you’ve just gotta—say it’s nerves, say you never expected to be here and you still can’t believe it’s actually happening. That’s all true, even.

                The kissing isn’t so bad. It’s bearable. It’s waiting for the inevitable escalation that’s killing you. You’re so tense you think all your struts might lock up, and it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done not to transform and make a break for the sky. You saw what happened when Starscream tried to run, you’ve seen how Megatron’s new alt mode handles. But. _Still_.

                Megatron’s the first one to break the kiss and step back. You still don’t know if you can meet his optics properly—but you don’t need to. He looks slowly down your frame, letting his optics linger. Then he steps around you again, letting his hand trail over your armor. But lower, this time. Closer to— _things_. He traces the plates on your stomach, over your hips, across your lower back.

                He breaks the silence with “Valve or spike?”

                You practically jump out of your own armor. You didn’t even process the words. “Sir?”

                “Valve or spike?” He sounds impatient. _Frag_ , you can’t afford to upset him this early. Or at all, really. But there’s such a minefield still ahead of you that you can’t make a mistake before things have even really gotten going.

                What almost comes out of your mouth is ‘ _spike_.’ That’s what you’d say for anyone else. But you bite it back just as it’s about to leave you vocalizer, because—what if that’s wrong? You should have thought ahead, you don’t know what _he_ likes, you never _wanted_ to know what he likes. And how badly would he react if you disappointed him now? So you say, “Either, my lord.”

                He steps around in front of you just in time for you to catch his smile out of the corner of your optic. “Excellent,” he purrs.

                A tiny fraction of the tension in your frame eases out of you. Not—not much. Because it’s not _true_ , you can’t remember the last time you even tried using your valve. But perhaps if you can do well enough with your spike, that might satisfy him. Or just. You know. Endure whatever happens with your valve. It can’t be that bad. Hopefully.

                And then he’s kissing you again. But this time, he’s cupped his hand over your interface array. And as much as you don’t want this, and as much as you don’t want _him_ , it’s – Well. You guess you need to react eventually, right? Or he’ll realize something is wrong. The longer it goes before he realizing things are off, the worse it’s going to be. And it was going to be bad no matter what. You’ve _seen_ what he does to Starscream when he’s angry.

                So you force yourself to lift up your arms—weirdest thing, they don’t even feel attached to your shoulders—and run your fingers along the edges of Megatron’s new wings.

                He’s still new to this frame. That helps. Wings are sensitive – and everybody knows that. They’re even more sensitive than your treads. But no matter how much he knows it in theory, that’s not the same as _experiencing_ it.

                When you trace out the joints where his wings meet his back, he makes a noise against your mouth, wraps his free arm around your waist, and pulls you up tight against his frame. You have to bite back a rush of fear, but it’s, it’s fine, he _likes_ it. Nothing bad happening. But now you don’t dare stop. You outline every plate leading into his wings, press your fingers as far as you can into the spaces between his plates. His hand is still between your legs, and as you touch him, he rewards you with steady, rhythmic pressure against your panel.

                At least, you assume it’s supposed to be a reward. And you still aren’t able to get into this, not the way you _need_ to get into it to make it through okay. If someone were here, you’d have some _things_ to say about what it does to a mech, trying to perform under this kind of pressure. Especially when the only thing on your processor is how desperately you don’t want to be here.

                No, you can do this, you just have to focus. If you can get through this, maybe even just once, the novelty will wear off, Megatron will get bored with you, and he’ll go right back to Starscream. _Primus_ , you hope so. It would be so much easier if only you were in the berth with someone you _wanted_ to be with, even a little. You dim your optics and do your best to forget who’s actually here with you.. You’d even take _Skywarp_ over this. Or— oh. What about that cute, fast little grounder you met on that one offensive a few thousand years ago. Whatever his name was. Sure, he might have died four orns after you met him, but you could totally self-service to that memory, and isn’t that all you need right now?

                With your optics offline like this, it’s so easy to pretend. It’s almost no time at all before you manage to let your panel slide open, and your spike pressurizes right into Megatron’s palm.

                “Eager,” he says.

                Which… is good. Definitely good. Megatron thinking you really want to be here is _very_ good. But—you almost forget yourself with those fantasies. Good thing you don’t remember that grounder’s name. If you upset Megatron _now—_ you don’t want to think about it, you aren’t _going_ to think about it. You’ve heard him and Starscream, and—

                Oh, _Primus_. You’ve _heard_ them. Through the tent walls. This thing isn’t anywhere close to soundproof. How much does he hear from the camp? Did he hear you and Starscream talking? _How much does he know?_ You can’t afford any fantasies. You can’t afford to let him think _any_ of this is false, and, and there are so many ways for this to go explosively wrong. You kiss him with extra enthusiasm, comb through your memories for every overwhelming, pleasurable thing any of your partners ever did to your wings, do your best to recreate them on his body.

                And Megatron—breaks the kiss. Only so he can smirk when you try to chase his mouth with yours, but still. You’re uncertain for a moment. Do you want to push this forward and be done with it as soon as possible? Or do you want to delay the inevitable as long as possible?

                You can do this. You drop your hands from his wings and take a half step back—only to give you room to work with, _clearly._ Though you aren’t going to argue that it puts a little more space between your frame and Megatron’s. You put one hand on his hip (not for leverage, _not_ to push him away, you can’t afford think these things) and let your other hand slide down between his legs.

                His panel opens up as soon as your fingers brush against it. Might be flattering if, you know. You actually wanted to be here. He doesn’t seem to object when you go right for his valve. And that’s good. Okay. You can actually feel you struts relax. Right. You’ve got this.

                You’ve got two fingers up his valve and are licking your way down the side of his neck (better than kissing him yourself, right?) when he takes your wrist and pulls your hand away. You’re petrified for a moment—what did you do _wrong?_ —but he’s only leading you forward. To… his berth. Oh.

                There are upsides, you tell yourself. It’s the only real berth in camp. The rest of you are stuck recharging on the ground, like organics or something. Might be worth a quick frag just to spend a cycle of recharge in an actual berth, right? Ha.

                Yeah, as soon as Megatron drops your arm to turn and seat himself on the berth, you freeze. He leans back on one elbow, his legs spread, watching you. You can see him rubbing his anterior node while his optics are locked on you. His valve is starting to drip. You’re frozen.

                You can’t be frozen, you can’t _afford_ to be frozen. You need to do something. _Anything_. But you can’t remember how to move. The silence is stretching out longer and longer, and you can’t remember how to _move_.

                All Megatron says is, “Well?” But it jolts you into action.

                Berth, okay. Get on the berth. You can do that much at least, right? And then it turns out you don’t have to do much more than that at all, because Megatron’s gotten impatient enough to put you exactly where he wants you.

                It’s simple enough. Pretty basic. He pulls you in between his legs— and you can’t help noticing he does it without ever taking his hand off his node. And once you’re kneeling there, his thighs settling in around your waist, he reaches down with his free hand and wraps his fingers around your spike.

                Yeah, you get the message. You wait before sticking your spike right up his valve, because if you _hurt_ him—Primus, you don’t want to think about it. So you take the time to slip a few fingers inside him instead, make sure he’s relaxed enough to take your spike.

                He chuckles and says, “Concerned, Blitzwing?”

                _Please don’t hurt me_ , you think. But out loud, you manage a laugh that hopefully doesn’t sound too forced. “Just want to do this right, my lord.”

                He practically purrs, “Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem at _all_.”

                And before you can think of anything else to say, he’s grabbed you by the collar and is pulling you up along his body so—oh. So he can kiss you again. You brace yourself with one hand against the berth, and with the other, you line your spike up with his valve. Maybe—your spike just won’t be interesting enough for him? It’s large, sure, but nothing special, no real mods. Gets the job done, but it’s nothing to get excited over. Maybe he’ll decide you’re boring and that he wants Starscream back in here to finish what he _started_.

                No such luck. You ease your hips forward against his, and your spike slides into him as easy as anything. No resistance, even at the widest part of the base. And Megatron’s reaction is a muffled “ _Mmn—”_ against your mouth, which, well. Kind of puts an end to your hopes that he wouldn’t like it.

                So. Okay. Easy mode from here on out, right? He’s still got a few fingers hooked in your collar, holding you down against him, his glossa in your mouth again. You’ve got one hand busy holding you off the berth so you don’t crush him. Only makes sense to go for his node with the other hand, right? Nothing about ending this _fast_ or anything, of course not! You’re only trying to do your duty, of course.

                And like this, it isn’t too hard to dim your optics again and fantasize about that little grounder again. He was such a pretty little thing. So fast on his wheels and with such a flashy, crisp paint job. Makes you kind of a target on the battlefield, but hey. He was cute while he was around.

                When you finally feel Megatron’s valve clench around you as he hits overload, it’s a bit of a shock how close you are yourself. You imagine the little grounder under you instead, and—you’d have to be so careful with him, but it’d be worth it, for the noises he’d make. And with hands that small, all the places he could _touch_ you—The charge from Megatron is still burning its way through your circuits when you tip yourself into overload, and you bury yourself in his valve, spilling transfluid inside him. You break the kiss to press your face into his shoulder while all your excess charge vents.

                The two of you stay like that for a few moments. Barely any time at all, by your chronometer. Just letting your fans run, at least beginning to let your frames cool. It’s almost all you can do not to run away as soon as you think your pedes will hold you, but—no. Tempting, but if Megatron takes it badly… So you carefully count off two full kliks before you move to get off the berth.

                You do give him a respectful nod as you roll off him and swing your legs around to step to the floor. “Thank you, my lord.”

                And he stops you with a firm hand on your arm. You freeze again—you don’t know what you did _wrong_ — But he’s pulling you back down towards him and he’s smiling, so you try to force your face into something like a smile too. It isn’t until he has you laying down across his chest again that he says, “I don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

                Again? “Right away? I—My spike will need some time, my lord, wouldn’t you—”

                “Oh… I don’t think we need to worry about your spike, do we?”

                You—don’t quite follow. You don’t _want_ to follow. Because you can feel his hand running down over your aft and dipping between your legs and tracing a circle around your valve. You can feel his spike pressing against your leg, and _please, Primus, no._

                And you got yourself into this mess, didn’t you. Because you had to give him the right answer, even if it wasn’t _true_ —and it was the right answer, you obviously told him what he’d wanted to hear, so it’s not like he’d have been happy if you’d been honest with him from the start. But you can’t think of any way to correct him now that wouldn’t be _worse_ , there isn’t any best solution, _everything_ is the worst solution.

                You haven’t even had half a chance to think about how you can correct things, but Megatron’s already rolling you onto your back, lifting your thighs to settle himself between them. There isn’t any good way to stop this, there isn’t even any _decent_ way to stop this, it’s—going to happen. Okay. You can handle this. All you have to do is make it through, and he’ll definitely decide you’re not worth the trouble.

                Megatron sits back on his heels for a moment and gives you an appraising look. “You have a much sturdier frame than Starscream. It’s gratifying to know I won’t have to be so… _delicate_ with you.”

                You don’t even have a chance to protest that before his hands are on you. And he doesn’t spend any time on your node, just slides a finger straight into you. It’s dry as a desert, because of course it is. It _always_ is. Might be something a doctor could fix, but you’ve never bothered to find out, because you’ve never _wanted_ anyone in your valve. Sure, you’ve had a few partners where you were willing to give it a try, but it’s never worked, not once. You _would_ have tried to get your valve fixed if you had any idea something like this was going to happen to you. Would have been the best use of your shanix you could’ve asked for. And now? Oh, Primus, this is going to hurt.

                Megatron’s already up to two fingers, idly pushing them in and out of you while you do your best to convince yourself that no, _really_ , this is going to be okay.

                Abruptly, he says, “Blitzwing.”

                You jump. “What?”

                “I can’t help but notice that you don’t seem to be terribly invested in the proceedings.” He locks optics with you, and you can’t look away. “Tell me. Do you want to be here?”

                Your mouth hangs open for a moment while your brain catches up, but, “ _Yes--_ my lord, if I’ve—done something wrong, displeased you, please—”

                He waves you off, impatiently. “Convince me.”

                You hesitate.

                “If you want me to believe you, _convince me_.”

                You bow your head as much as you can, on your back in his berth. Your fuel tank is churning. “Yes—I, I just—where should I begin?”

                “Mm.” His hands are still moving against you. “How long?”

                You take a deep vent and brace yourself. “Years. _Centuries_. I never thought this would—”

                “No, I don’t imagine you did.”

                His two fingers are still inside you, opening you up. Your valve is still as dry as ever. He gets his other hand on your node, and—it still doesn’t do much for you, your spike is what you care about. But you arch your back and moan a little, just to be safe.

                The silence doesn’t last long before he says, “Self-servicing so loudly you wake up half the camp, I hear.”

                Your plates all burn with humiliation. Just let Starscream catch himself alone with you, just _once_ , and oh, wait until you’re done with him—but right here and now, you know that all you can do is— _ugh_. “Yes.”

                “Tell me about it.”

                “I—what?”

                “ _Tell me_ ,” he snaps. You don’t quite manage to hide your flinch, but he doesn’t do anything worse. You feel like a fool, but you’ve seen Starscream, the whole _camp_ has seen Starscream after he’s spent time with Megatron.

                You reset your vocalizer twice before you manage to reply. “Your—valve. I dream about it. Putting my spike inside you.”

                “Yes, yes,” he waves you off, “I think we’ve made that more than clear. Let’s hear about something more relevant to current proceedings.”

                Oh. He means— _your_ valve. You have to reset your vocalizer. Again. “Your spike—filling me?”

                He gives you a flat look. “Is that all?”

                “And your hands, on, on my node, in my valve. All that too.”

                It’s not enough, you can see it in his optics. But you don’t—what else are you _supposed_ to be telling him? What’s wrong with a plain, straightforward frag?

                He leans forward. His hands are still on you and in you. “Frankly, I’m not convinced. I don’t believe you.”

                “ _No,_ my lord—” You clutch at his shoulders. Or—what if that’s wrong, what if that will bother him? You don’t know what he wants you to say, you don’t know what he wants you to _do._ You just know that _you_ _don’t want to be here_. But even more than that, you don’t want to find out what he’ll do if he decides you’ve made a fool of him. “ _Please don’t go_ —”

                And… you don’t know what did the trick, but he’s smirking again, that same smirk Starscream tries so hard to imitate. “A little life at last,” he says. “Go on.”

                His fingers begin moving in and out of your valve again, that same old dry slide, while you try to collect your thoughts. “Wanted this for so long,” you venture. That’s—right, isn’t it? By the lie Starscream was spreading? “Don’t want you to leave.” And that’s true, either way.

                “What do you want me to do next?”

                You shudder. No, just—just a happy little shiver, that’s all it is. Better get this over with as soon as possible. “Your spike. _Please_.”

                “My spike? That’s not very clear at all.”

                You almost grit your dentae—but he’d be able to see that, wouldn’t he. “Please frag my valve with your spike. _Please_.”

                He’s still watching you. Waiting.

                You add, “My lord.”

                And even though you just asked for it—you know your valve isn’t going to just magically start lubricating out of nowhere. But. Isn’t he going to mention that anything is off? Anything? You know that this is going to be painful. Shouldn’t he know the same thing? Surely he must know that. It’s the kind of thing you learn in your most basic educational feeds. He _must_ know.

                But he’s still lifting up your hips closer to his, hoisting your legs over his shoulders. He’s lining his spike up with your valve and you barely have time to brace yourself before his hips slam forward against yours. _Primus._ You have to deactivate your vocalize for a klik so you don’t say anything unfortunate like ‘don’t’ or ‘stop.’ And that’s just how much it hurts when he’s barely gotten started. He wasn’t joking about being less delicate with you. But you—You know that no matter how rough he’s being now, if he was being _rough_ , you’d have already started leaking.

                Not that you aren’t going to start leaking. It’s just going to take some time this way. You’re braced for the—frag, the _friction_ when he’s inside you like this. It burns now, it’s only going to burn worse the longer this lasts. If he’d just overload _now_ , that would be fine, but—it’s hard to concentrate, and it’s only going to get worse. If he’d just damage you already, maybe some energon would at least make things slide more smoothly.

                “Blitzwing,” he says. “Well?”

                Oh— _frag,_ you’re not playing your part right. Can’t look like you’re in pain. Come on, you can do this, just once, and then you can be more trouble than he wants to bother with, and not worth fragging a second time.

                You bring your vocalizer back online and manage to grit out, “ _Harder—_ “

                Harder is a mistake. You were wrong. That was Megatron being gentle. And no, it turns out that tearing the mesh inside your valve isn’t worth the extra lubrication. Your whole valve feels like it’s burning, and when you feel fluid dripping out of your valve and down your aft, you can’t help thinking that it’s _energon_ , and it’s all you can do not to purge your fuel tanks.

                And even then, even through all that, when he gets a finger on your valve and uses his other hand to tease out your spike again, you can’t help arching and thrashing under his hands. You don’t even know if it feels good anymore. There are parts that feel like the Pit and the parts that feel just fine—or they _should_ feel just fine, but everything just adds up to _too much_ , and you can’t, you’re going to go offline if this lasts any longer.

                No, _no_ , you _aren’t_ going to go offline, because Megatron already thinks that you don’t actually want to be here, and if you let yourself pass out at a time like this—you don’t want to know what would happen when you woke up again. You try to chase the memory of that little grounder again, he’s done it for you well enough twice already. Doesn’t do much to distract you from the way Megatron keeps slamming into and into your valve—but you can’t even feel it in your interface array, that just feels like it’s on fire. You just feel it in the way it echoes up through your frame all the way to your spark.

                You think you’re clinging to his hips as he moves against you. Not that it does you much good, but it feels like if you didn’t have something to hang on to, you might evaporate. You, you need to think about that grounder instead, not what’s being done to your interface array. Remember, just this one, just make it through this one time and it’s _over_. He had such pretty paint. You wish you could remember his name.

                When Megatron’s overload finally hits him, you’re ready to stop. You’re _more than willing_ to stop. You don’t even care what he does to you anymore, you just want it to be _over_. But you can’t remember how words work, and your hands are locked in place, you don’t know how to beg him to _please just stop_ , and he keeps working your node and your spike until you finally, _finally_ tip over the edge into overload.

                Your vision glitches out. You think most of your systems do. You come back online just in time to catch your fuel tank trying to purge, and put a stop to that. By the time you’ve got yourself halfway functional again, Megatron’s already gone from the berth. Your valve is dripping, and you don’t know how much is transfluid and how much is energon.

                When you finally make it to your pedes, Megatron is already back at the comm system, engrossed in a datapad. He looks up briefly when you stand, then back down at whatever his precious datapad says.

                You do your best to sneak towards the exit without looking like you’re sneaking. And without showing how badly your legs just want to buckle. But just as you’re _almost_ out of the tent, Megatron speaks up.

                “As rarely as it’s justified for me to say anything positive about Starscream, it was well done for him to bring you to my attention. And since we had just a mutually positive encounter, the next time I ask him to report to my quarters, I’ll expect you to accompany him.”

                Your spark twists. You stare at Megatron, hopeless, without _any_ words that could possibly—

                He turns his optics to you. “Is there a problem?”

                You stare helplessly at him for a moment before mutely nodding, turning, and leaving.

                And the first thing you notice when you step out of the tent is all the optics on you. Your plates burn again. Everyone— _heard_. They all heard. You head back towards Astrotrain—still hasn’t gone on that supposed ‘patrol’ of his, the fragger. You give up on trying to walk straight in about two steps. You do your best to ignore how many people are watching you limp across the camp. Every step burns, and you don’t think you have the nerve to check yourself to see if you’re still leaking energon.

It takes you too long to get to Astrotrain, and then figuring out how to lower yourself down to sit on the ground is another fresh humiliation. And you are still leaking. Impossible to miss, like this. It’s dripping out past your panel. You just—watch yourself for a klik. It’s almost funny. Kinda like this isn’t actually happening, and soon it’ll evaporate and the real world will come back.

That's not true, of course. Not with—not with all _this_. Astrotrain is watching you. Everyone in the camp is watching you. You grit your dentae, give up, and shout, “ _Flatline!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/145548338081/numb-spockandawe-the-transformers-idw)


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